


Leave a Light

by hartstrings



Series: A Kind of Blindness [4]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Epilogue Ficlets, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, railroad ending, shaun's upbringing is a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23049193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hartstrings/pseuds/hartstrings
Summary: While the story ends, life carries on.Episodic chapters relating to Charmer's trauma as a result of the Institute and Shaun's upbringing in the Commonwealth. Nothing's ever easy.Takes place post l'Appel du Vide.
Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor
Series: A Kind of Blindness [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562854
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	1. Funeral

For Charmer, the euphoria of victory was marred.

The damage to her body reflected the ruin wrought on her mind. There were nights he held her as she wept. No longer did she have another mission ahead. The great goal was accomplished. Her entire reason for being since she stepped out into the Commonwealth was gone. Now the months of pain hit her with full force.

Deacon did what he could. He brought her books, holos, told her gossip and far fetched stories. He shoved his own rage down. The hellfire they brought down on the Institute wasn’t enough, would never be enough. It could never erase the legacy that was left in the tear tracks down Charmer’s face, in Shaun’s searching gaze.

If it wasn’t for the Courier, he’d worry for the boy. In Charmer’s grief, the woman of the Mojave had taken to keeping the child company when he had no one else. It was good for him - good for her, too. They’d all lost a lifetime’s worth.

There was no running from it, no pulling on a new identity and pretending Charmer’s family hadn’t been irrevocably shattered.

All they could do was bleed the poison out. With every crying jag, a little more of it was removed. It took time, but she was healing.

He stood by her side as she did his, all those months. She’d helped him put himself back together again - now he’d return the favor.

\--

October 21st, 2289.

The entrance of Vault 111 lay before them. 

Wooden boxes of a particular size lined the elevator. Settlers and Minutemen were grouped between them, looking anxiously over to the trailer that housed the elevator controls. Sturges waved from within it.

“Alright! Let it down!” Preston called after doing a quick headcount. The newly titled General was overseeing his first ceremony.

Deacon wrapped his arm around Charmer’s waist and pulled her closer. The sunlight filtering through the changing leaves cast rippling colors of orange and red on her skin.

“Remember. If you can’t handle it, just say-”

“I know, Dee.” she murmured back and laced her fingers between his. 

It began. The boxes went down open, and came up closed. It took two people to carry them off of the elevator, replaced by more empty wooden constructs.

Deacon refused to call them coffins. A little lie of his, for old time’s sake.

The sun dragged its way across the bright blue sky. It was a beautiful day. The air was crisp and clear. Scents of cooking meat and woodsmoke drifted over from Sanctuary. On occasion a dog’s bark or child’s squeal of delight would carry.

Minutemen carried the closed boxes down the hill. One by one they passed, every container signifying another life needlessly lost, another person who went into the vault never to see the sun again, their lives ended with the world they knew.

The sun hung low in the sky when the final box was brought up. 

Now he felt her stiffen beside him. Heard that telltale little intake of breath. She’d done so well, he knew it was only a matter of time.

This one was kept open. Preston walked over and kneeled down before it, reached in for a brief moment before he gestured for the two of them to approach.

Nate’s eyes were closed, his hands folded neatly on his stomach. Preston had moved the dead man’s hair to cover the wound at his temple. He looked as if he was merely sleeping. Exposed to the sun for the first time in two centuries, the frost had faded from his skin.

Charmer looked upon him, the tears flowing freely down her face. “That’s him.” she whispered.

Deacon pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. He couldn’t tell her it was Goodneighbor now. The time for pretending had ended.

They all waited for her, let her get her breathing back under control. Deacon wondered the could-have-beens - if it had been Charmer holding Shaun when they entered the vault, if Nate had been too groggy from the thaw to put up a fight to save his son. He was a soldier. Would he have done better than her? Would they have saved Father together?

Would Deacon have found himself, even then?

Charmer shifted beside him, nodded her head quickly. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Sturges and Preston placed the lid over the box and lifted each side. The four of them followed the same path as the Minutemen, down the hill - into the woods behind Charmer’s old home, now Sanctuary’s museum.

Some of the graves had already been filled, wooden crosses with names scratched into them placed into the ground at their head. Pastor Clements had made the trip from Diamond City, giving the last rites.

Nick Valentine gave them a morose smile when they approached. His hat was in his hands, Dogmeat at his feet. The Courier stood beside him, dark locks free of her beret and waving gently in the wind. Shaun hovered at her hip, retrieved from his play with the settlement’s children.

_ God, he looked like Nate. _

Charmer left Deacon’s side and walked over to her son. He peeked out at her approach, uncertain when he saw the trail of tears left on her cheeks. The Courier gave him a little push.

“Sweetheart.” Her voice broke his heart, warm and maternal even when steeped in grief. She knelt down in front of Shaun and placed her hands on his shoulders. It hurt her to look at him, Deacon knew - and he knew she hated herself for it. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but - if you want to know what your father looked like…”

Her voice failed her, cracked. There were too many layers of tragedy for her to stand tall as she used to. 

Some would advise against it - and if Shaun were another child, maybe they’d be right. But he was a smart boy - wiser than he had any right to be. Tougher than he looked, just like his mother. He nodded.

Deacon’s stomach twisted as he saw mother and son walk toward the last grave. Nate laid beside it. Shaun looked down at the father that wasn’t quite his, the man who’d died trying to save someone who’d brought suffering to the Commonwealth. A man of the past, who never witnessed a life after the War even though he’d lived his life in battle.

A man whose face Shaun wore.

Tears sprung to Deacon’s eyes. He didn’t have the shades to hide them from anyone anymore.

The boy nodded again, and the two stepped away. Sturges lifted a wooden lid over Nate, settled it into place. Preston unfurled a faded American flag and draped it overtop. The last military honors for America’s last soldier.

Men walked under different banners, now.

The words were given. Charmer gave no eulogy - it would be said for the rest of her life, in Shaun’s questions answered, in tales of her life before the end of the world, in every pause she took in their travels, at every little remembrance.

When it was done, Valentine, Preston, and the rest guided her back to the community center that had cropped up in the house across from hers. Deacon lingered at the gravesite for a moment longer, kept company by the ghosts Charmer used to know.

“I’ll take care of her.” He didn’t mean to speak, but his thoughts were given voice nevertheless. “I can’t be the same. Can’t be you. I’m not going to try to be. I’m… sorry we couldn’t do more. For Shaun. Maybe we’ll do better with this second chance.”

The scent of disturbed earth reminded him of the house on the hill. The grave he’d dug under the old oak.

“If… if Barbara’s there. I’m going to keep doing some good. I don’t deserve any of this, but I’m going to make sure I don’t waste it. Be the man you thought I could be.”

Wind made the trees creak and groan, rustled the greying hair he’d started to let grow back in. It was like a sigh, a breeze flowing downward, an exhalation. 

Deacon turned from the grave and headed back into town.

The past had been laid to rest.


	2. Birthday

Shaun didn’t remember much of the Institute.

He wished he remembered more. The adults would whisper about it, sometimes. Mom’s friends talked about it often, when they came to visit. They didn’t intend for him to overhear what they were talking about, but already he’d found all the best hiding places.

Having somewhere to hide made him feel safer. Even if he couldn’t remember much about the Institute, he remembered that it felt  _ right _ underground. The sky scared him.

Not as much as his mother’s friends scared him.

Shaun knew the Institute as a safe place. A boring one, maybe, but a place that he belonged in. No one was ever mean to him. No one ever swore. It was much different on the surface. People were sharp and bitter. He tried his best to make sure people were happy - or, at least, that they didn’t have reason to yell at him. They spoke of the Institute like it was nothing but bad - and from what his mother told him, he supposed they were bad. 

Somehow the tone they used for the Institute happened to be the same tone they used to talk about  _ him _ , though. Scared. Disgusted. Worried. Relieved. Mom always sang his praises, talked about how thoughtful he was, how he wasn’t what the Institute wanted him to be.

It always seemed off, though. Whenever he tried to look her in the eyes she’d pull him in for a hug, or find something else to look at. It confused him. He didn’t remember anyone ever having trouble looking at him before - least of all his mother. 

Piper came to visit, one day. Shaun liked when she visited, because sometimes she’d bring her sister, Nat, along. They’d play on the rooftops, he’d show her his hiding places, she’d snap photographs of his experiments so he could look back on them. Together they explored the tunnels beneath his apartment building, the hidden paths of the Railroad. One time they found a super mutant corpse and ran home screaming.

Nat told him how Piper measured how tall she was, told him when she’d grown out of her favorite jacket or shoes. Shaun didn’t understand. He’d never had a problem with his clothes. At first she bragged that she was getting taller than he was, but after the first time she stopped. He felt like something was wrong with him.

The visits from the red-haired woman - Desdemona - were always the strangest. Shaun would peek out of the hatch that led to his room in the attic and see Deacon exchanging quiet words with her in the hall. Mom ended up crying too often after her visits. Shaun wanted to dislike her for that, but Desdemona seemed just as sad as his mom did. 

It seemed like the Courier was the only adult who was comfortable around him. Deacon tried, but Shaun was smarter than anyone gave him credit for. He saw what the man was like around Mom, noticed how he only  _ really _ joked when things were bad. Deacon wasn’t himself around Shaun, and he didn’t really know if that was something good or bad.

The Courier, though - she’d let him talk to her from day one. Never minded his company, listened to him talk about his experiments and inventions even though she didn’t understand what some words meant. Shaun thought the people of the Commonwealth were a little dumb, but through her he started to realize that maybe they were just a different kind of smart.

She caught him sitting up on the roof one night, peering through a makeshift telescope. He thought she’d push him off or drag him back to his mom or worse - but instead she sat next to him and asked him if he ever learned about the positions of the stars. It made him less scared of the sky to know that it was a map.

They taught each other things, whenever the Courier came by. Mom always warned him to make sure he wasn’t bothering the Courier, but the other woman would always laugh it off. He never saw the Courier surrounded by people like his mom was. Maybe she was lonely. Maybe that was why she talked to him.

Shaun felt a little guilty at being happy she was lonely - even if it meant they were lonely together. 

One day, after she promised him she’d teach him to shoot on his twelfth birthday, he told her he wished Mom was more like her.

He’d never seen the Courier so scary. She didn’t lunge at him, didn’t yell or hit him. Instead her pupils contracted, her eyes turned wild, and when she looked at him he saw another person. The person he’d overheard his mom and Deacon talking about, the person that the people of Diamond City and Mercer still avoided.

A beast in human skin. He’d read fables and myths of them, but had never seen something like it in the flesh.

“Never say that. I bled to make sure she didn’t end up like me.”

Her voice was calm, but in the way he remembered Coursers being calm. It terrified him in a way he didn’t understand.

“I’m sorry.”

With his apology, the beast retreated. 

Shaun wondered if that was what people saw in him, to make them act the way they did.

\--

He turned twelve. Winter had fallen over Boston again, and a cold snap had rendered outdoor play uncomfortable at best. Instead his mother gathered up the old monster movie holotapes she’d told him he was too young for, and the two of them constructed a pillow fort for the ages. Deacon waltzed in with his arms full of Fancy Lads and Sugar Bombs with no explanation as to where he’d gotten them, and together they watched supernatural creatures terrorizing the pre-War world.

When he started to yawn, Mom turned off the projector and left their little fort illuminated only by the lantern they’d brought in and the light of her pip-boy. She looked frightened for a moment - and not because of the movies they’d just seen.

“Shaun, there’s something important I’ve been meaning to tell you for a little while. I know… I haven’t been the best mother these past couple months.” Her eyes darted to Deacon, who was leaning up against a cushion stack without a care in the world.

“You’re my mom. That’s what matters.” Shaun replied - the words didn’t feel like they were quite his own, a reflex more than anything - but they sounded right to him.

Mom’s smile was a watery one when she took his hands into hers. A couple hours ago he’d be embarrassed, but something about the way she acted told him things were serious.

“It is. And I always will be, no matter what.” She swallowed and looked like his mother again - confident, prepared, always ready with an answer or explanation for him. “I’m sure you’ve been wondering why Desdemona’s been visiting us so often.”

Shaun felt a jolt of fear. “I never thought about it.” He lied. He didn’t know why he suddenly was so afraid - why the prospect of being found to be eavesdropping was such a terrifying one - but he knew that he wanted to try his best to avoid discovery.

Deacon chuckled and pushed his sunglasses up to his forehead, resting against the short red curls that were starting to grow back in. “I’ll give that a five out of ten. Good attempt, but you look like a radstag in the spotlight, champ. Don’t think I don’t hear that hatch creak.”

Shaun’s eavesdropping hadn’t gone unnoticed. He could hear the blood rushing through his ears, but Deacon remained casually reclined, a smile on his face. Mom’s attitude only grew more natural, ease settling over her posture.

“You’re not in trouble, sweetheart.”

“Your mother was pretty proud, don’t let her sell it short. Even  _ she _ can’t trick me, so don’t take it too personally.”

“What does this have to do with Desdemona?” Shaun frowned.

Mom breathed deeply and stroked his hand. He marvelled at how many more lines her skin had compared to his. 

“You know what synths are. How the Institute made them, what they were doing to them. Why we had to stop the Institute. Synths are people, they’re just born a little differently.” She paused to smooth a cowlick in his hair. “All synths came from Father. His DNA wasn’t mutated by radiation - even when the other scientists were. You know I was frozen in a Vault.”

Shaun’s mind was racing, as it always did when he was presented with a mystery, a puzzle. He said the first hypothesis that came to his mind. “Did Father come from your vault?”

“He did.” Mom always looked sad when she talked about Father. 

“Was he your dad?”

Her face twisted. Wrong. She opened her mouth, about to say something, then lost her nerve. “When I left the Vault, I was looking for the baby that I saw taken from me. I didn’t know that sixty years had passed since the first time I woke up. Father was that baby. He and I - we lost too many years. He lost his way.” 

She spoke in a slow and measured way so that he could understand, but Shaun was keeping up all too well. He felt sick to his stomach, a terror that went beyond logic settling into his bones. His teeth started to chatter.

“As… misled as he was, I think he felt regret at how things turned out. So he… cloned himself. Gave me you. The son he could have been.” Mom’s hands squeezed his. “You’re a synth, Shaun.”

Her voice sounded far away. All the parts of the puzzle had snapped into place, like when he’d finally managed to find the right gear for one of his inventions. He couldn’t remember when he was little. He only remembered flashes of the Institute. Mom leaving him in a place she seemed to hate never sounded right in his head. Synths weren’t supposed to age - and his feet never grew. Was he stuck like this forever?

Worse - Mom had mentioned Desdemona as part of it all. The leader of the Railroad. They took synths, wiped their memories. 

And he was a synth cloned from the worst man in the Commonwealth, if the conversations he overheard were any measure.

The tears came fast. His body felt cold. “Please don’t get rid of me.” He begged. “I promise, I won’t be bad ever, I’ll do whatever you want, just please-”

His voice was muffled when Mom wrapped her arms around him and pressed him tight against her, trying to banish the cold away. She pressed her mouth to the crown of his head. “I said I’ll never leave. I promised. You’re my boy, Shaun, no matter what.”

She let him cry it out, rubbing his back. At first they were panicked tears, horrified ones - but when she still didn’t let go, they turned to tears of relief. 

When Shaun pulled away, Deacon had left the room. Mom wiped the tears from his cheeks with a smile. “See? I’m not going anywhere.”

He felt better. “S-so… why have you been talking to Desdemona?”

“To give you a choice. There’s a few Institute scientists who are willing to help us. Synths don’t age. You know that.” Mom got that steely look in her eye she had whenever someone said something mean about him. “I guess Father didn’t think about what things would be like for you. But these scientists say they can get rid of whatever’s preventing you from growing.”

Shaun blinked at her. “But - why did you have to tell me?”

“For starters: because you deserve to know the truth. The Commonwealth’s had enough secrets. Secondly…” Mom winced. “... because the procedure might be dangerous. And it might make you remember everything. If you don’t want to do it, that’s okay.”

“I want to do it.” he blurted out, panicked at the idea of being a child forever. 

Mom looked worried - but it wasn’t in a bad way. She wore the same frown she did when she caught him climbing something he shouldn’t be. “Alright. I’ll let Desdemona know. You’re very brave, you know that?” Her frown turned into a smile.

The door to the apartment creaked open. Deacon had returned with a long box in hand, a bow fashioned from duct tape stuck to the top of it. A present. The sight of it nearly wiped away his previous worries. Shaun scrambled to his feet and ran over, excited.

“Hey, hold on there sport.” Deacon sidestepped around him with practiced grace and settled the box down on the coffee table. Mom looked exasperated at the use of ‘sport’. “You guys done with the big talk?”

“What is it?” Shaun had manners enough to keep himself from tearing open the package immediately, but he was dying of curiosity. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Deacon slipped his hands into his jean pockets. “So - this one’s from me and the Courier. Mostly me, because I was the one who managed to convince your mother this was a good idea.”

“Don’t make me change my mind.” Mom warned, though she couldn’t help but grin. She always seemed happiest when Deacon was in high spirits. 

“Yeah. Caveat is you have to be responsible, but the Courier says she’s going to make sure of that.” He was silent for a few moments, his grin widening, dragging out the wait. Deacon always had fun teasing him, but the teasing was always worth it. “Okay, okay. Go ahead and open it.”

Carefully Shaun removed the bow and set it aside before methodically opening the box, taking care not to tear anything. As he pulled a cardboard flap back, gleaming metal came into view - along with bright yellow fusion cells. A laser rifle. It was half as tall as he was. Shaun reached out to touch it, but Deacon raised a hand.

“First rule of gun safety - don’t pick one up if you don’t intend on shooting someone.” he stated matter-of-factly. “Look but don’t touch. Courier’s coming by at eight sharp tomorrow morning to teach you how to use it so you don’t take an eye out.”

“Eyes are a small target. They sound hard to shoot, even on accident.”

“... turn of phrase, kid.” Deacon exchanged a look with Mom, brow raised. 

Shaun stared at the rifle for a few moments more before walking up to Deacon and giving him a brief hug. The man stiffened at first, then gave him an awkward pat on the head. “Thanks, Deacon.”

“Got to make sure no one messes with you, pal.” The man replied casually, though his smile seemed a little softer than usual.

“Okay, boys.” Mom stood up and brushed the Fancy Lad crumbs from her pants. “It’s already late and I know  _ both _ of you will be cranky if you don’t get some shut-eye before the Courier comes knocking.”

Shaun and Deacon groaned in unison - Deacon making more of a show out of it than Shaun.

“One more movie! Please?”

“We  _ were _ almost at the thrilling conclusion of the Mothman Trilogy.” Deacon added. "We won't be able to sleep even if we tried with such suspense!"  


Shaun wondered if the man knew he needed to forget about being a synth before he could sleep.

Mom sighed. “... fine.”

Shaun and Deacon high-fived.

All in all - it was a pretty nice birthday.


	3. Masks, I

Deacon’s world was starting to settle into place. He looked over his shoulder a little less, and was able to fall asleep without jumping up at every creak of the floorboards. Paranoia - once his constant companion - was chased away in the golden mornings when he woke up with Charmer in his arms.

It was tempered by the fact that he’d been woken up by Shaun hurriedly climbing down from the attic (laser rifle in tow) every other day for the past two weeks - but he wasn’t about to complain. The fact that he was still alive - that  _ Charmer _ was still alive - was enough to be thankful for.

Deacon stared at the ceiling until Shaun’s footsteps down the stairwell faded, willing himself to fall asleep even though he already knew it was a hopeless pursuit. Charmer dozed beside him - after all this time in the Commonwealth, she still slept as if danger wasn’t around every corner. He watched her chest rise and fall, followed the line of light the sun traced over her form. He never wanted to wake up to anything else.

Time to start the day. By now he’d memorized which of the floorboards happened to creak, where to step to slink out unnoticed. He made it to the bottom of the stairwell just in time to see the Courier (embracing her title once again, it seemed) dropping a small stack of Publick Occurrences.

“Morning.” she greeted him with a slight tilt of her head, understated as always. Shaun was standing politely beside her - though he couldn’t help bouncing on his heels. The boy looked nervous when he caught sight of Deacon - probably waiting to be told he couldn’t go for his shooting lessons after all. Deacon didn’t know why the boy always seemed to expect the worst.

“Mornin’.” Deacon returned, flashing a smile in Shaun’s direction. “Figured I’d get the paper while I was up, kid. You’re not in trouble.”

“Piper’s on a rampage again.” The Courier warned. When Deacon stepped over to pick up a copy, he soon saw why.

**_‘SYNTHS - STILL AMONG US.’_ **

He frowned down at the headline. “Thought she was willing to chill out a little. Her last article was nice.” Deacon skimmed the article, frown only deepening with every line. Allusions to Institute scientists in hiding, the issue of infiltrator synths without any source of command. As always, her information was startlingly accurate - but this time, he was sure Charmer wasn’t one of her sources. The tone of the piece - and Shaun’s nervous expression - were testament enough to that.

“Apparently not. Something’s got her riled up again. Not a chance I’ll be able to figure out what, though.” The Courier continued. “Might be a good idea for you or Charmer to check in with her.” As ever, she sounded detached - but there was an intensity in her gaze that implied the statement was more than a suggestion.

It was hard not to immediately follow his natural curiosity - he could slip away to Diamond City, see what the hell Piper was on about and return before Charmer was up, if things went smoothly. 

The alternative if they didn’t was enough to get him to tuck the paper under his arm and offer a shrug in response. He knew what waking up alone did to Charmer, now that the Institute was gone. It wasn’t an experience he wanted either of them to relive.

“Haven’t even had breakfast yet, Courier. I’m  _ retired _ , remember?” 

“Right. Long, lazy, dull days.” she replied with a bemused smile, glancing down to Shaun at her hip. The boy still looked worried. “No sense wasting daylight. Let’s go.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Shaun replied politely. “Bye, Deacon.”

He couldn’t help but smile a little watching the Courier depart with the boy at her heels. Shooting lessons were good for them both. She was starting to look happy for the first time since Glory - and Shaun was starting to gain a little confidence.

His frown returned when he glanced over at the stack of papers.

For now.

Despite everything, Deacon’s paranoia could never be fully smothered.

Charmer stirred when he stepped back inside, body stiffening for a moment on realizing she was alone in bed - but a smile soon bloomed on her features when she caught sight of him.

“You look positively domestic.” she purred, stretching her legs under the sheets. He tossed the paper on an end table and crossed the room to her side.

“I try.” Deacon leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple - another to her cheek - and as these things tended to go, found her arms wrapping around him and his body entangled with hers very shortly.

Charmer pulled her lips away from his long enough to chuckle, nose rubbing against his. “You don’t waste any time.”

He paused, hand hovering at the edge of her nightdress. “As much as I appreciate the creative solutions we’ve come up with when it comes to location, nowhere beats the first.” Deacon let his head dip down to her ear. “That a complaint?”

“No.” She breathed, goosebumps running down her skin. It was his turn to laugh.

When they sat dressed and eating breakfast a half hour later, and he watched her take a bite of a mutfruit with her hair in tousled waves, he got an idea of what the old painters were on about.

“Hm.” she broke the silence that had reigned since words had begun to fail them earlier. She’d caught sight of the newspaper and took it into her free hand. Charmer’s expression darkened. “ _ Hrm. _ ”

“Courier says Piper’s got a bee in her bonnet about something again.”

“She didn’t say that.” Charmer glanced up from the paper with a raised brow.

“Exact words. Westerners, you know? We’ve got to find her some brahmin to rustle.”

She snorted, her mood lightened. Mission accomplished. “Well. Sounds like something’s gotten into her. Haven’t read something like this since…” Charmer trailed off, her gaze growing somewhat unfocused. Old memories. Bad ones. Deacon placed his hand on her knee, jolting her back to the present. She set the paper back on the table. “I should talk to her.”

Bad idea. “You know that’ll just make her defensive. She’ll think you’re trying to censor her.” Charmer shot him a glare. “What? I’m right.”

“Doesn’t mean I like it. Fine. What do you suggest?”

“What I do best. Listen. See if I can’t figure out what’s got her excited. Then we can put a stop to it.” 

Charmer folded her arms in front of her. “Deacon, you act as if I don’t know how you go about getting your information.”

“Piper wouldn’t blame me. She’d do the exact same thing.”

That she couldn’t argue with. She sighed and let her arms drop back to her sides. “Fine. Courier mentioned wanting to speak with me when Shaun was done with his lessons today anyways.” A sip from her mug of tea.

“When was that?”

She smirked against the rim of her mug. “Last night, when she brought that stack of comics in. Courier knows how to be subtle too, you know.”

Deacon frowned. There was a time he wouldn’t believe the Courier knew what subtle meant, back when Glory was at her side - but that was a memory that yet stung. Charmer seemed to pick up on the train of thought as well - their expressions mirrored each other. Grim.

“Well.” He broke the silence. “Good. That woman doesn’t talk enough - can’t be good for her.”

Charmer’s smile returned. “Someone has to balance you out, chatterbox.”

“I know a good way to shut me up.” Deacon nudged his chair away from the table and leaned backward.

“ _ Deacon. _ ” Her tone was a playful scold, even as she rose from her chair and crossed over to him, intent on silencing him in the best way.

Life was good.

\--

_ Zap. _ Another bottle turned to ash. Shaun couldn’t help but grin.

“You’ve got a talent, kid.” The Courier’s voice sounded from behind him, warm and approving. “Just watch the stock. Recoil’s not much of an issue with energy weapons, but you’ll thank me if you’ve ever got to shoot something high caliber.”

Shaun glanced over his shoulder and tried to adjust his form. She’d always told him to let the meat of his shoulder absorb the impact - but at his age there wasn’t much more than skin and bone to work with. “What’s the biggest thing you’ve ever fired?”

The Courier turned her gaze to the middle distance, as she so often did whenever he asked her questions about the past. Shaun didn’t know why she always seemed so lost, but he couldn’t help but identify with it. Out of everyone he knew, she was the only one who felt similarly out of place. 

“Nuclear missile.” She finally answered, tone grim. Shaun tried to keep his shock from showing on his face. Deacon liked to tell tall tales, but the Courier erred on the side of truth. He wanted to ask her more, but judging by her expression it was a bad idea. “Long time ago. Before your time, probably.” Putting on a brave face, she rested her hands on her hips. “Good work today. We’ll try with moving targets next week, I think.”

Moving targets. That meant killing something. Shaun liked shooting - liked the satisfaction of hitting his target - but until now his targets had been bottles or buoys, inanimate objects, junk. Killing wasn’t something he thought he’d like or look forward to. He looped the belt of his rifle back over his shoulders and swung it around, letting it hang from his back.

The Courier picked up on his concern and took a few steps forward, kneeling down next to him. “Just bloatflies. Something safe. Not people.” There was a grim look in her eyes. “Pretty sure your mother wants to spare you that as long as possible. I have to agree with her.”

“What’s it like?” Shaun couldn’t help himself, wishing to put his anxieties to rest. Knowledge always soothed him - even if the answers were frightening, at least he knew the truth. It was a thought process that was starting to define him - after all, the same could be said when it came to knowledge of his identity.

“Killing a man?”

“Yeah.”

“First time’s the worst. At least I figure it is, since it’s something I can still remember.” The Courier’s voice was low. Shaun glanced at the scar at her temple - always did, when she talked about her memory loss. How strange that something so small could control so much. She continued. “People I’ve talked to seem to agree. You’re never prepared for it. After that, though - starts becoming natural.” A wrinkle in her brow. She didn’t seem to like it. “Kill or be killed. Law of the wastes, once you get out of what passes for civilization. Something to keep in mind even when you’re in town. Things change. One thing I’ve learned - safety isn’t ever guaranteed.”

Shaun nodded solemnly. He learned that lesson with the Institute, already - the ruins had stood smoking for weeks.

“Sometimes you have to take a life to ensure you keep yours. Make sure it’s worth it. Never throw it away.” The Courier looked him right in the eye as she spoke - this was important. Sometimes he wondered if she ever talked to other people the way she talked to him. The Courier didn’t talk much around other people at all.

He nodded again. 

“Good.” She rose to her full height and looked up. The sun shone near directly overhead - it was nearly noon. “Your mother’s probably expecting us.”

“Courier?”

“Mm?”

“Can you visit more? Not just to teach me how to shoot?”

Her expression went blank for a moment. He’d surprised her. 

Shaun hurried to fill the silence. “I know mom would be okay with it, don’t worry about that! Just - you’re really cool. And you don’t lie. Not that anyone lies in bad ways, but they’re always worrying about me or something. You just tell the truth, say how things are without trying to make it nice. You don’t treat me like a baby.”

The Courier raised a hand and he fell silent. “You’re Charmer’s kid, alright. Nervous talker.” He’d never seen her grin the way she did then. It reached her eyes, made them warm - how he’d imagined chocolate to be, when he read about it. “I can try to stop in more, sure.” She never made promises she couldn’t keep. He figured work must have kept her pretty busy.

Still, he appreciated the answer she was able to give. “Thanks.”

“Come on.” she brushed things off as she did so often, whenever things became too emotional. Shaun wondered why she didn’t like to feel so much. She shared that quality with Deacon. 

Shaun followed hurriedly at her heels, taking three steps for every one of hers to try and keep up.

\--

Deacon had eavesdropped on the morning arrivals to their little alley settlement and was busy writing down notes when the Courier and Shaun finally returned. He’d thought  _ he _ had reason to be happy that morning, but the aura that surrounded the Courier when Charmer had opened the apartment door was positively sunny.

“Good shooting today?” Charmer inquired while Shaun put his rifle back in its case, treating the thing as if it was the most valuable thing in the world.

“Going to try bloatflies next week.” The Courier answered, leaning against the doorframe. She glanced between Deacon and Shaun, then tilted her head. Asking Charmer a silent question.

“Hey, Dee?” Charmer turned to look at him, and he gave up any attempt to pretend to still be working. “Why don’t you take Shaun with you on your trip to Diamond City?”

She wanted privacy. At least, the Courier wanted privacy. That made it difficult to want to leave - to not try to eavesdrop. For years he’d adopted the mindset that secrets were his business - it was his job to know, especially things that people didn’t want him to know.

But wartime was over. He could afford to be a little sloppy these days.

Shaun’s muted eagerness was enough to give him that final shove. Besides - the kid was friends with Piper’s sister. Could be a good distraction.

There it was again. The part of him that viewed people as tools. He swallowed the bile the thought prompted. No, he’d take Shaun because the boy needed to get out more, enjoyed Diamond City for all of its faults. No reason further.

“Sure.” he shrugged and closed his notebook, stashing it in his back pocket. He slid his shades back over his eyes. “Not too tuckered out after your lessons this morning?”

“No!” Shaun had that little edge of desperation that made Deacon feel bad about teasing him. 

“Alright. But if I have to carry you on our way home I might throw my back out.”

Charmer rolled her eyes. “Old man. Go be crotchety somewhere else.”

The Courier stepped aside to let him and Shaun pass, silent the entire time. Still, she exchanged a grin with the boy on his way out.

“Yeah, yeah.” Deacon called over his shoulder as they started to make their way downstairs. “I’ll complain to the mayor about those dang kids while I’m there.”

The door shut behind them. Deacon paused once they reached the bottom of the stairwell.

“You know, sport - I think this is the first time we’ve gone out by ourselves.” The realization made him a little nervous. Charmer loved Shaun more than anything - by extension, Deacon valued the boy’s safety over anything else. Being trusted with his care was a little unnerving - and a little uplifting.

“Is that bad?”

“Nah.” Deacon patted Shaun on the shoulder. “Boy’s day out. Once I’ve done my business, how’s a trip to the science center sound?”

The boy’s expression was all the answer he needed. Always a little surprised at the kindness, but ever excited. Deacon recalled himself at that age, and his heart hurt a little.

\--

Charmer gestured for the Courier to take a seat at the little breakfast table by one of the windows - a recent addition to the apartment. She settled herself in a faded wicker chair and watched as her friend brewed another pot of tea and laid out a few snack cakes on a china plate. Made an art of it - the appearance of the food was just as important as the taste. Meals were an event, not just an act of survival. It was something distinctly old world - something the Courier hadn’t seen since the Strip.

It was theatrical. Deacon and Charmer had that much in common.

“So.” Charmer began, the china clinking when she set it down on the table. “How are things in Diamond City?” Small talk. The woman had a fondness for it, little envelopes to wrap around the core conversation. Maybe packaging it made it more bearable.

The Courier wondered if it was a habit she should adopt, as well.

“Fine.” she answered with a shrug. “Been seeing a lot more people lately. Think word’s started to spread about the resident ghosts being gone.” The Courier watched as Charmer poured steaming amber liquid into her cup, watched her reflection ripple on its surface.

“Hope that doesn’t end up being a bad thing.” Charmer also had a pessimistic streak - tended to be one of the things they connected over. She blew the steam off of her mug and took a tiny sip. “Any of them catch your eye?” she ventured.

It took some willpower to keep from glaring at her. It wasn’t a question often asked, but the Courier was good enough at reading people to know that her friend’s concern only grew with each visit made alone. “No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” The Courier offered her best attempt at a reassuring smile - smiling was starting to come easier to her, now. She sipped at her tea in return, the boiling temperature not much of a bother. It heated her from the inside, gave her some courage. “Just not in the cards for me. Think that’s pretty clear.” 

It struck her just how foolish this entire endeavor was, how childish. Charmer continued to bear her look of concern - suspicious, no doubt, that the Courier had asked her to speak for a very grave purpose. That was the impression everyone seemed to have of her, after all - a grave, serious thing, whose every smile was one to be treasured. It wasn’t always that way - wasn’t quite her, even when she used the mantle to her advantage. That woman died in the Divide, flayed away from her skin like so many unfortunate souls.

“Is everything alright?” Charmer’s gentle tone jarred her from her thoughts.

“Of course.” The answer was too quick, her friend was unconvinced.

“You were shaking.”

True enough, droplets of amber liquid were spilled across the table - and her lap. The Courier felt her cheeks warm. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Charmer echoed her own words back to her. “What can I do?”

No avoiding it. She set her cup back down on the table. “This is going to sound stupid.” It sounded stupid in her head, that was certain. “I just… wanted to ask. What it’s like.” A shrug of her shoulders, a glance around the apartment. 

Charmer was confused. “What what’s like?”

Shoes stacked near the doorway, a pair of yellow children’s rain boots standing out. A dark pompadour wig hanging from the hat rack. Drying wildflowers strung up above the bed. Little pots of various plants, labelled in differing handwriting. Well loved books strewn by the couch. The apartment dripped with sentimentality, little markers of home. It was all terribly intimate - made the Courier feel as if she was trespassing on sacred ground. 

“A happy ending.” she clarified, feeling sheepish at even having asked. “Took a while;” she added, well aware of the months of recovery Charmer faced. “But. Got there.”

It was Charmer’s turn to look around her home, taking note of the little things. “Guess I did.” she murmured, her smile small and sad. “Won’t lie to you - I never thought I’d ever feel like this again.”

“Reminds you of before the war?” Such high praise made the Courier’s heart ache.

“Very different. But - there’s… safety. Contentment. It’s the closest thing I can compare it to. It’s like getting an inn room after camping for weeks. A warm bath. Food that isn’t from a box or can.” Charmer’s smile grew softer, happier. “The snow melting in the spring. Waking up with the sun on your face.”

The Courier had to look away - stared at her own face reflected in her tea instead. “Was it worth it?”

A few moments of silence. She could hear laundry rustling in the wind, strung between the buildings of the alley. Fluttering like banners. “I didn’t think this is where I’d end up. Didn’t start off with this in mind as a reward. But if I’d suffer what I had again, knowing this waited for me? Yes.” Charmer stared at the Courier, studied her with those green eyes of hers. “Why do you ask?”

Never was one to offer information without something in return, Charmer. Relic of the job, maybe - or maybe this was just what friends were supposed to do. Veronica never asked the Courier too many questions about herself, Cass was always happy to do most of the talking. Charmer was different - happy to talk, but more eager to listen.

“Been homesick.” The Courier answered truthfully. Wasn’t any use in lying - even if she thought she could get away with it, her friend had an eerie talent for ferreting out the truth.

Charmer kept her pity from her expression, though she couldn’t help it reaching her eyes. “Oh.”

"I left searching for a better life. Thought things would be different here. For a moment, thought there was a happy ending in the cards." 

"Carmen." Charmer exhaled sympathetically. The two of them knew the other by name, but the use of them was always a surprise. Reserved for moments of importance.

It caused tears to form in the Courier's eyes. She hastily batted them away and fished her pack of cigarettes from her pocket, paying no mind to the look of mild disapproval offered by Charmer. She didn't speak until she had taken a drag.

"About as happy here as I was out west. More to be thankful for. More to mourn. Figure if I cozy up to happiness -" The Courier gestured at her surroundings. "- some of it might rub off on me, anyways."

Charmer pressed her lips together, considering her next words. "Do you think you've been able to process things?" 

Glory. A searing brand left on the Courier's heart, a brief flash of light too dazzling to last more than a moment. The Courier inhaled smoke like it was more precious than air, savored how it seared her throat. Through fire, she felt a connection across the veil. "I can talk about her again. Still hurts. That count for anything?"

"About as much as you can expect." Charmer answered, refilling her teacup and grabbing a snack cake. Sweets seemed to calm the woman's nerves - and judging by how much her figure had filled out since the Institute's destruction, her nerves were frayed indeed. “The pain doesn’t stop, I’m sorry to say. But it dulls, with time.”

“Suppose I was overdue.” The Courier murmured. “Everyone loses someone out here. Maybe I did, before.” A tap at the scar on her forehead. “Didn’t after, though. Not until the fucking Brotherhood came along.”

Charmer was silent now, her gaze settled in her lap. The Courier turned to look out the window, resting her forehead against her free hand. She watched settlers tending to the gardens filling the alley’s small amount of green space - children darted underfoot, wooden sticks in their hands. Their shrieks of delight echoed up to the top floor.

“I try not to cry about it.” The Courier added at last, voice soft. “Not what she wanted. Told me -” Her voice suddenly caught in her throat at the memory. “- told me the world deserved to see me smile.” A bitter chuckle. 

“She was right.” Charmer replied gently. “You’re not an old woman. Plenty of time left for you to find what you’re looking for.”

“You’re not the first to tell me that.” The Courier couldn’t remember how long it had been -  _ his arms around her, a grim farewell _ . The years were slipping through her fingers. She stubbed her cigarette out on her saucer. “Anyway. You don’t have to worry about me, Nora.”

“That won’t stop me, and you know it.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I've got a few of these written up that I'm slowly editing that follow a linear structure, but this will also be host to some standalone stories as well because I can't let these guys go.


End file.
